User blog:Squibstress/Because It Is Bitter, and Because It Is My Heart - Chapter 12
Title: Because It Is Bitter, and Because It Is My Heart Author: Squibstress Rating: MA Genre: Drama Warning/s: Explicit sexual situations; non-con; character death Published: 05/06/2017 Disclaimer: All characters, settings and other elements from the Harry Potter franchise belong to J. K. Rowling. Chapter Twelve Christmases Past and Present Severus and Minerva were having what they would come to think of as their customary drink after having finished what they set out to do. When their work was ended, Severus had Summoned the bottle of Firewhisky and two glasses. They sat sipping the liquor in companionable silence, each lost in thought, when Severus felt the familiar burning on his arm. When he winced and moved his other hand to cover the spot, Minerva’s eyes widened, and she whispered, “Severus, do you think … ?” “I don’t know, but I’d better go,” he answered, setting down his drink and standing with difficulty. He Summoned his cloak and moved toward the fireplace. As he took a pinch of Floo powder, Minerva said anxiously, “Let me know as soon as you can.” He nodded, stepped into the fireplace, and was gone. She walked back to where she had been sitting and picked up her glass. She didn’t feel quite like returning to her own quarters yet. She felt very much alone, and it seemed right somehow to be here in Albus’s (Snape’s, she corrected herself) office. It was Christmas Eve. Her wedding anniversary. After finishing her drink, she went to the side chair and collected her wand from her robe pocket. She went around the room, methodically breaking the Disillusionment Charms Severus had placed on the Heads’ portraits, ending with Dumbledore’s. She crossed over to the desk and poured herself another glass of Firewhisky, sat down, and waited. After a few minutes, the portraits began to reappear, and once again, Dumbledore’s was last to return. Minerva set down her drink and stood, facing his painting. Finally, she spoke: “Happy anniversary, darling.” “Happy anniversary, my love,” the portrait answered quietly. “Anniversary? Why didn’t you say something, my boy? Many congratulations, Dumbledore, Deputy Headmistress! How long is it?” exclaimed the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black. “Oh, pipe down, you old fool, and let the young folks have their moment,” the painted Dilys Derwent tutted at him. “Well, I must say—” began Phineas huffily and was immediately shushed by several of the other portraits, who were watching the exchange between Minerva and her late husband’s portrait with interest. “Forty years.” Minerva, undisturbed, answered Phineas’s question without looking away from Dumbledore’s portrait. “Do you remember our wedding?” she asked the painted figure of her husband. “Of course. I remember how beautiful you were and how nervous I was. But not you. You were calm as the loch on a windless day. I remember your father’s toasts, and I remember you singing to me. What was the song, again?” She surprised herself by starting to sing quietly: “Amang the train there is a swain I dearly lo’ mysel’, But what’s his name, or whaur’s his hame, I dinna care tae tell. Ilka lassie has her laddie, Nane they say, hae I, Yet a’ the lads, they smile at me, When comin’ thro’ the rye.” The portrait Dumbledore smiled at her. “I remember how I loved you,” he said. “I remember that too,” she said softly. After a moment, she asked, “Why did you leave me, Albus?” “It wasn’t my choice to make,” the portrait replied. “How can you say that? You practically forced Severus to kill you,” she said, angry with herself for arguing with a portrait but unable to stop. “I only chose the time and method, my angel. I was dying already.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” “I didn’t want you to suffer. I didn’t want us to spend our last months together worrying about what was to come,” he told her. “So you cocked up a scheme to get yourself murdered so I wouldn’t suffer?” she asked in disbelief, two spots of angry colour rising to tint her pale face. “It seemed the best way. Voldemort had given the Malfoy boy the mission to kill me; Severus prevented it. And cemented his position within his inner circle in doing so. It was for—” “For the greater good,” she finished. “Yes.” “Did you think of me at all?” “Of course. I just told you, I—” “Didn’t want me to suffer, yes I heard you,” she cut him off coldly. “Do ye not think I have suffered?” she asked, her brogue breaking through in her anger. “I know you have. I’m sorry, Minerva. Truly sorry.” She knew, of course, that the portrait couldn’t feel sorry, but it was what the living Albus would have said. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye to you. After forty years, I should have thought you owed me that,” she said fiercely, her voice low and rough in the attempt to drive back tears. “I’m sorry,” the portrait repeated. “Did you think of me at all? At the end?” she asked. “Every moment. It was always you,” the portrait answered. The tears began to spill from her eyes, though her voice did not break. “I loved you, Albus.” “I loved you, Minerva.” She knew, still, that the portrait was merely repeating what its subject would have said; there was nothing behind it but the ghost of memory. But it made her feel better, somehow, to hear it. She turned away from the portrait and transformed into her Animagus form. The tabby cat walked over to the hearth, turned around three times, then settled down by the fire to wait. ~oOo~ She was right. The Dark Lord was nearly undone when he saw the latest memory Snape brought, and it made a difference. When Severus arrived at Malfoy Manor after the summons, he found the Dark Lord in a state of high excitement. “Severus, it appears my plan is unfolding just as I anticipated. Potter is doing exactly what I expected of him, the fool, and he is walking right into my trap.” “Excellent news, my lord! Would my lord like to tell me of the plan now that it is coming to fruition?” Snape asked. “All in good time, Severus.” Other Death Eaters were appearing one by one, either through the door, having Apparated, or a select few emerging from the fireplace, as had Severus. When the entire inner circle was assembled, the creature addressed them. “I have called you all here so that you may witness the culmination of our work. Tonight I shall kill Harry Potter and fulfil the prophecy and my destiny.” The Dark Lord’s eyes held a manic glow that made Snape extremely nervous. “In a few minutes,” he continued, “I expect to receive word that the brat has been trapped, and then I shall go to retrieve him myself.” The assembled Death Eaters murmured their approval. “My lord, would it not be wise to allow some of your faithful servants to accompany you to get the boy? In case he is protected?” Snape asked. “He is alone, accompanied only by the Mudblood girl. Unless, Severus, you are suggesting that my faithful servants have not carried out the tasks I required of them?” the creature asked. “No, my lord,” Snape answered. If Granger was with Potter, the boy at least had the benefit of a few brains on his side, he thought, clinging to a thread of hope. “I trust you have all ensured that the members of the Order of the Phoenix are otherwise occupied?” the Dark Lord enquired. They answered collectively, “Yes, my lord.” “And Severus, is Professor McGonagall accounted for?” the Dark Lord hissed. Snape saw his chance. “Indeed, she is, my lord. In fact, we had just been discussing a matter of discipline when your summons arrived,” he said. “Really? I am sorry to have interrupted it,” the creature replied, his interest obviously piqued. “The lesson had ended, my lord. It was a brief meeting, in any case. In fact, if my lord would care to view the memory now, it might provide an excellent entertainment while you wait for your trap to spring,” Snape said. “I believe my lord will find it most invigorating, and it will take only a few minutes,” he added. The Dark Lord seemed to be wavering, but his desire eventually won out. “Bring me the Pensieve, and hurry up about it!” Wormtail scurried over with the item, and Snape used his wand to remove a long, silvery tendril of memory from his head and deposited it into the Pensieve. The Dark Lord leant into it eagerly. Snape was seated in a chair facing the door of his office. A knock sounded. “Enter,” Snape said. “You wished to see me, Headmaster?” said Minerva McGonagall, her head down and her voice toneless. “You may approach me.” She did so and stood in front of the chair. “Kneel.” She obeyed, dropping to her knees in front of him. “Now we will find out whether that sharp tongue of yours has any useful skills,” Snape said silkily. He unzipped his fly, opened the placket of his trousers, and freed his erect penis from its confines. “Put me in your mouth,” he commanded. As she put her palms on the floor and leant toward him, he grabbed her by the hair and crooned, “Mustn’t bite.” He released her hair and pushed her head toward his member. She took his half his length in her mouth and began to suck him, moving her lips back and forth, running her tongue along the underside of his shaft. His breathing began to get faster. She moved one of her hands to the base of his penis, and began to stroke him as she moved her mouth over the head, circling it with her tongue. After a few moments, he grabbed her hand and moved it inside his trousers to cradle his testicles. He grabbed her head and pushed himself further into her mouth and down her throat. She gagged for a moment, then adjusted to him. He held her by the hair at the back of her head as he pumped in and out of her mouth. She whimpered around him and turned her eyes upward to see his face. His breath was coming in ragged gasps, and he was trembling as his orgasm built. When she moved her tongue so that it brushed the sensitive ridge at the tip of his cock with each thrust, he could stand it no more. He released her head and pulled abruptly out of her mouth, shooting bursts of warm semen into her face. She stayed perfectly still while he shuddered his last. When he was finished, he brusquely removed her hand from his trousers, put his now-flaccid penis back, and zipped up. “Did you like that, whore?” he asked. When she said nothing, he shouted, “Answer me!” “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, what?” he asked. “Yes, Headmaster.” “Good. Go wash yourself. You’re filthy.” She rose and looked around for something with which to wipe her face. Snape reached over to the other chair and tossed her her robe. “Use this.” She hesitated and then used a corner of the robe to wipe his come off her face. “Now get out,” he said. She folded the robe over her arm and left. When Voldemort unbent from the Pensieve, his reptilian eyes were glowing with excitement. “Severus, you have tamed the wildcat beyond my expectations! And so quickly!” he exclaimed in delight. Speaking in a soft hiss that made Snape’s flesh crawl, he asked, “Severus, how did it feel?” “Exquisite, my lord. She has talents that have been underappreciated at Hogwarts … until now,” Snape confided. “No doubt that old fool was too high-minded to take full advantage of them,” cackled the creature, referring to Dumbledore. Snape could see the Dark Lord replaying images from the memory in his mind. Humiliation, subjugation, terror … these were what the Dark Lord saw and relished. It would not have occurred to him that such an act could be anything else. Snape nearly pitied him. In his excitement and delight at the memory, Voldemort failed to notice Nagini trying to penetrate his mind, and by the time the snake had found her way into his consciousness, it was moments too late. The Potter boy would escape once again. When the Dark Lord returned from Godric’s Hollow, his wrath was uncontainable. Every Death Eater in the room—including Bellatrix Lestrange, who was usually exempted from his shows of temper—suffered from it. Curiously, Snape, who had fully expected to bear the brunt of his anger, was spared the worst and sustained only a broken nose and numerous bruises and contusions. He concluded that it was because the Dark Lord wanted him relatively whole and unbroken in order to fulfil his role as Minerva McGonagall’s surrogate tormentor. The creature needed his body and his memories. When the Dark Lord finally dismissed his attendants, Snape Flooed back to his office. Stepping out of the fire, he almost tripped over the tabby cat curled up asleep on the hearth. “Minerva?” he queried as the cat woke and stretched its paws. A moment later the cat had become Professor McGonagall once again. “Severus! Thank Merlin you’re back. What happened? Does Voldemort have Harry? Is he all right? Have you been hurt?” came her fusillade of questions. “Give me a moment to catch my breath, Minerva,” he replied, limping over to the chair. “I’m sorry, Severus … Oh, your nose!” she cried, having espied the blood on his face and the odd shape of his already misshapen proboscis. “It’s nothing. Hurts,” he said wearily. “Will you allow me to fix it?” she asked, picking up her wand. “Not worth fixing, probably. But be my guest …” “Episkey,” she said crisply. The spell was followed by an ugly cracking sound and Snape’s grunt of pain. “Scourgify,” she added, and the blood was cleansed from his face and collar. “Are you injured anywhere else?” she asked. “No.” She looked relieved. “So tell me, what happened?” she asked anxiously. “Potter is safe,” he replied, gently probing his newly adjusted nose with the pads of his fingers. “Or to be more accurate, he is not in the hands of the Dark Lord.” “Thank Merlin! Do you know where he is?” “No. Only that he and Miss Granger were at Godric’s Hollow and that the Dark Lord expected it.” “Hermione was with him?” “Apparently. Fortunately for them, the Dark Lord was detained and did not get there in time to capture Potter.” “Detained?” How?” “By you.” “Me?” she asked in confusion. Then understanding dawned. “The memory.” “Precisely,” he said. “As you predicted, the Dark Lord found it most compelling.” Severus was watching her closely for her reaction. She was a difficult woman to read—always had been—but he thought he recognised some of the emotions flickering across her face; there was joy—at Harry’s escape; pride—at having helped effect it; but also anger, shame, grief, and a host of other, less well-defined emotions for which neither she nor Severus would have had a name. “Severus, he must have been furious when he realised he’d lost Harry. How did you escape serious injury?” she asked. “There were many others there to absorb his wrath, and he needs me in serviceable condition,” he said, still watching her closely. She knew immediately what he meant. She nodded. “It’s late. I am tired,” he said. “Yes. I’m sorry to keep you, Severus. I was anxious to hear the outcome of your meeting. I hope you don’t mind my staying,” she said. “Not at all.” He knew also that she had stayed partly out of concern for him, worried about the condition in which he might return. The idea that someone was waiting for him—cared what happened to him–was novel. It was something he would have to examine more closely, but later, when he wasn’t so tired. “Shall I see you to your chambers?” he asked. She was amused. As if he was a suitor seeing her home from a particularly late date. “No, Severus. I’m perfectly all right on my own. Besides, it would look very odd if we were seen.” “True. I wasn’t thinking.” He sounded spent. She pressed his hand. “Good night, Severus.” “Good night.” As she headed for the door, he added, “Happy Christmas, Minerva.” She turned. She had forgotten. “Happy Christmas, Severus.” She stepped out of the office and made her way down the corridor toward the infirmary to look for the pain potion she had promised him. Something had changed between them, she thought. They had admitted, however tacitly, that they could be something more than just two victims of circumstance, clinging together out of desperation and resenting one another for it. They could be … not friends, exactly, but something near enough. In wartime, near enough would have to do. Severus stood in front of the dying fire in his office, rubbing his temples. He took off his cloak and hung it on the peg in the corner. As he opened the door to his private quarters, the portrait of Dumbledore spoke. “You did well tonight, Severus.” Severus went through the door, slamming it behind him. ← Back to Chapter 11 On to Chapter 13→ Category:Chapters of Because It Is Bitter, and Because It Is My Heart